Half Moon
by Spyke Raven
Summary: Full moons are no fun for werewolves.


Half Moon 

by Spyke

~*~ 

_It's very simple why he does it. So simply explained. _

It's supposed to be elephants that remember, but apparently wolves don't forget either. Apparently the scent of him is still caught in the werewolf's nostrils, the fear and sweat as he escaped Lupin's teeth. 

Lupin remembers. 

"Headmaster..." the werewolf hissed when Snape entered the room. Snape treasures the memory of those two small slips: Lupin reverting enough to shock Dumbledore. Dumbledore in shock. Snape loves to take that memory out and view it from every glorious facet, that small sight of Dumbledore's shock when it was Lupin and not Snape who reacted so badly to a first meeting. But Snape has never alluded to that incident in public because Dumbledore's shock masked his own. 

Lupin. So pale. So thin. Bruises and scabs showing through the thin material of his robes that were buttoned high to hide that fragile, fragile neck. 

"I can't," Lupin said, his eyes gleaming, his mouth firm. "I agree," said Snape and wondered why when he knew it would be his opposition that firmed Dumbledore's resolution. 

"You can and you will," Dumbledore said sternly, the effects of his voice not even mitigated by the boiled sweet tucked into his cheek. "It's past time you children grew up." 

But it wasn't growing up that was the problem, Snape wanted to remind him. Lupin had grown and that was why this would be a problem. 

His smell. Lupin's teeth. The first time he handed the man the goblet of Wolfsbane and their fingers touched. 

Lupin hissed. 

"I'm... sorry." He gulped the potion and smoky tears streamed from his eyes. 

"So you should be," Snape said, turning on his heel and exiting. 

Next time. 

"Thank you," Lupin said quietly, not clasping the goblet securely enough so that Snape was forced to hold on to it and endure the sensation of their skin touching. 

"Don't. Mention it." 

This time Lupin drank carefully, actually tasting the potion. The contortions of his face became another small thing to treasure. 

The third night, Snape heard something scratching at his door. 

"It's an outrage!" he hissed next morning in the headmaster's study. Headmaster Dumbledore regarded him calmly and nodded his head. 

"It must have been frightful for you. Gummi worm?" 

A soft knock and Snape stood as - Professor McGonagall entered. 

"Severus." He returned her nod. She turned to Dumbledore. 

"If you're busy, Albus, I can always come back later..." 

"No need, Professor, I was just leaving." And he left, heart burning a little but perhaps that was because of the unspoken words in the headmaster's study. 

It's past time you children grew up. 

Well. Well then. 

Lupin had the decency to knock on his door that night. Snape could smell his reek even through half a foot of solid English oak. 

Another knock and something like a sigh. Gritting his teeth Snape got up and wrenched the door open. 

"Fine." He said. Lupin stared at him, plainly at a loss. 

"Fine?" 

"Fine," Snape spat back. "Don't you understand English?" 

A long moment of silence and then Lupin's thin long fingers plucked at the topmost button of his robe. Snape snarled, drawing back. 

"Not _here_. Not **now**, you imbecile!" He was careful to modulate the words to a whisper however. Peeves had manifested through the far wall earlier in the day. 

"Then when?" 

Snape hesitated. "Midnight. One of the hidden rooms." 

"Which one?" 

"You'll have to find out, won't you?" and that was the third treasure he clutched to his breast, the uplifted eyebrows and slight look of awe as he slammed the door in Lupin's face. 

Lupin found him of course, tracking his scent. It made what followed - harsher - but Snape thought of his favourite things and managed not to bite his own lip when Lupin lost control and placed a ragged half moon of tooth marks on Snape's right shoulder. 

"Not your mouth," was all Snape had said when Lupin appeared in the door of the hidden room, his hands twitching slightly, lips parted enough to show the pale red tongue. "_Not_ your mouth." 

Half feral or not, Lupin responded to the flat tone. 

"Hands?" he asked, equally flat. 

"If you _must_ grip," sneered Snape. Lupin's lips thinned, but his hands were gentle, only applying enough pressure to steer Snape onto the bed and hold him there as if he were afraid that Snape would bolt. Snape smiled cynically, holding still until maximum penetration was achieved and Lupin's trembling fingers lifted slightly. 

For a moment Snape was afraid Lupin would speak. But no. 

The thrusting pains began. 

After a few seconds Snape realised he wasn't used to this half-arched posture, but at least the unnatural curvature of his spine took his mind off the other pains. Until Lupin lost it and bit him. 

Bit. Him. 

_Hot fear sweat and rank breath and ugly blunt teeth_

The bite travelled through cloth and imprinted itself onto skin. Shaking seconds later, Lupin withdrew and collapsed onto the bed at Snape's side. Snape slid off the sheets and stood up, pretending a grace he did not feel. 

Lupin opened an eye, raised a finger. Snape raised his hand in reply. 

"_Furtos_," and he walked out slowly but steadily, shielded from prying eyes. That being that. 

Or so he thought. 

Three weeks later he was steeping Wolfsbane when the fire in the hearth flickered blue. 

"I'm busy." 

"I only need a moment." 

Oh. 

He turned off the cauldron fire and waved McGonagall through. 

"Thank you Severus." He waited till she was seated in her chair before indicating that the tea tray could begin operations. 

"Sugar?" 

"No thank you." He knew that and had added extra cream instead. 

"Thank you Severus." She took the cup, not quite holding it and with the enforced intimacy their hands touched. 

The cup rattled. She took it from him gently. 

"You've not been looking well." 

"The smell doesn't agree with me," Snape said, nodding at the cauldron in the corner. It was capped, but still smoking. 

As expected, McGonagall's lips thinned and they confined conversation to arranging the next house matches. 

Lupin knocked when he was pouring them a second cup of tea. 

"I need to speak to you." 

"I'm busy." 

"Quite alright, Remus, I was just leaving. Severus," she nodded at them both and swept out. Snape didn't watch her go. 

Lupin stood on the threshold, eyes oddly arrested. Snape resisted the urge to bang the door in his face. 

"Are you going to come in or not?" 

Lupin shuddered slightly but did. The door shut behind them. 

The tea tray trundled up, hoping to be hospitable. Snape flicked his fingers to motion it away. 

"It hasn't gone." 

For a moment Snape thought Lupin was referring to the tea tray. Then he realised. 

"Ridiculous." Snape snapped. 

Lupin was obviously resisting the urge to pluck at the fabric of his clothes. "I tell you it hasn't." 

Snape clenched his fists and relaxed them with an effort. 

"Get out." 

"Severus - " 

"I said get _out_." 

Two days later he thought he had the reason why. So he collared Lupin in a dark corridor and whispered softly. 

"One. Last. Time." 

Lupin's hands were less gentle this time, trying to nullify his own attraction. His prick withered twice before he managed to do the deed and it took all Snape's concentration to focus on the blank wall. 

"I'm sorry," Lupin said unsteadily. Snape didn't dignify that with a reply, simply retreated painlessly into his fortress of silence. 

Minutes later when there was no weight moving off him, yet no pain burning at him, Snape furrowed his brows wondering what the dickens the werewolf was playing at. When he turned his head slightly, the cool fingers under his chin caught him unawares and he jerked. 

"I'm sorry" Lupin said levelly. 

Snape stared back. After a moment Lupin looked away. 

The third time was easier. The unfamiliar weight was settled on him and the uneasy probing began and ended in perfect silence. Snape used the time to look at the wall and reviewed his memory chest of treasures. 

"I'm sorry," Lupin said, rolling off him afterwards. "I'm so sorry." 

"I'm sorry," Lupin always said, rolling off him carefully. "I'm so sorry." 

But not sorry enough. So Snape said nothing. It was this silence that ensured there would be a next time. 

In three months he'd refined the encounters to a precise ritual. Purification, internal and external _before_ the deed to ensure that his scent would be strong enough to rouse the beast. Quiet, defiant submission _during_, to ensure that the aftermath would leave the man gutted with self-loathing. And _after_, in the privacy of his own quarters - 

His back was a map of dotted scars now, unmarred skin on the surface covering a multitude of throbbing werewolf-marks, each an apology, a pock-marked half moon. Snape was aware of each. He sometimes wondered if Lupin knew. 

Silence bound them together, and the unfulfilled urge of a werewolf needing to hear its victim scream. Such a human desire, that, not at all beastly. 

And Snape wouldn't scream. Wouldn't speak more than necessary. A human desire, that too. Needing to shift the balance of power. 

"What are you thinking of?" Lupin whispered in Snape's ear, ashamed and daring, still heavy inside the other man. Snape never even considered telling him. To tell Lupin would be to break the spell. 

The spell that bound Lupin to him. And through Lupin - 

(Purification, internal and external before the deed to ensure that his scent would be strong enough to rouse the beast. Quiet, defiant submission during, to ensure that the aftermath would leave the man gutted with self-loathing. And after, in the privacy of his own quarters -) 

Afterwards, in his own quarters, Snape always took a bath. Washing away memories. 

Memories like 

_ Hot fear sweat and rank breath and ugly blunt teeth _

Minerva McGonagall twenty-five years ago in the apple orchard, ministering to Lupin, her beautiful eyes steadfastly avoiding the gaze of the black Slytherin nuisance who'd made the angel fall. 

Dumbledore saying, 'It's past time you children grew up.' 

All these memories down the drain to be replaced by the perfect beauty of this one fact. This knowledge that Lupin had to content himself now by marking out half moons. Had to depend on Snape's goodwill for the simple clarity of his release. 

And ergo his sanity. 

It was so perfect. It was so beautifully arranged, poised for his revenge that sometimes Snape's knowledge segued into wistful dreams. 

_Dumbledore greying and shaken: This could damage Lupin's career irretrievably Severus. I'm begging you, Severus. know you're hurt, my boy and scared - but please. For my sake. I beg you Severus. _

McGonagall looking at him with new, soft eyes: You could have hurt him badly, Severus. But you didn't. You - is that what you want? 

Yes. Oh yes. 

Not **your** mouth, Lupin. 

Afterwards, in his own quarters, Snape always took a bath. 

And waited for the next full moon. 

~End. 

Oh look. I wrote rape fic. Who's the victim? 


End file.
